The Other Warbler
by QuietKurtsie
Summary: They were meant to be just friends, nothing more. When they finally got together, many people were delighted. But one boys heart broke. A warblers point of view.


**AN: My friend and I have this theory that one of the warblers is secretly in love with Blaine, and I had major writers block, so I decieded to write this. Hope its not too strange and confusing.**

**If you want to know which warbler it is, in Orignal Song, he was the one that said "This is a kangaroo court" :D**

He didn't really have a place.

He was never very popular, nor was he disliked. He sat comfortably in the middle.

He had his friends, he had the warblers, but they didn't really see through him, no one did. Maybe he preferred it that way.

He was just there, in the background. Watching but never speaking.

No one really noticed him, not those who mattered the most.

He couldn't even really sing that well, he never fought for solos. He only joined the warblers so he could be closer to him.

A year they were in the warblers together. One became their lead soloist, whilst the other sat back and listened admiring. Always listening, never talking.

He wanted to speak to him, so badly. But he didn't have the courage.

Then one day, that new boy showed up, in a terrible attempt of the Dalton uniform. He was good looking, with flawless skin and beautiful piercing eyes. But he didn't hold a candle to the soloist, not in the other warblers' eyes.

The new boy was brave, he went straight up to him on that staircase and spoke, just like the other warbler never could. He watched the pair talk with seething jealously. But still, no one ever noticed. They never did.

A few weeks later, the porcelain boy transferred to Dalton, and joined the warblers straight away. He was flamboyant, even in a dreary Dalton uniform. He sparkled, whilst the other warbler was dull and ordinary.

This new boy and the soloist became close friends quickly, far too quickly for his liking. It was obvious he liked the older boy; you could see it clearly in his eyes. The other warbler could tell. He could see him staring at the curly haired boy during every warbler rehearsal, because he was staring as well.

He heard them singing together, near Christmas. Baby its cold outside. Their voices were equally as stunning; they meshed together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle. But he wouldn't give up that easily, he just couldn't.

When Valentines Day came around, the soloist stood up and announced he was in love. The other warbler was sure that he was about to admit his feelings for the porcelain boy, but he didn't. He watched the boys face fall, obviously dismayed. It was vindictive, he knew it, but he felt the tiniest flicker of pleasure at the boys' pain.

Life carried on as normal for a while. The two boys grew even closer, far too close to be just friends. Klaine, they became known as. As always, the other warbler watched from afar, dreaming of the time when his name would be meshed with the soloists, it couldn't be too far away, could it?

Regionals arrived, which meant extra practises with the warblers. More time to watch him perform, and marvel at his impeccable talent. But this year was different; of course his best friend had to interfere.

Why shouldn't he have all the solos, his performances were memorising, enchanting. He was an amazing performer, he deserved it.

It was a strange day, the day that boy walked into warblers rehearsal, dressed entirely in expensive black, babbling about his dead bird. He asked to sing a song for it, Blackbird by the Beatles. It was good, nice even. But that wasn't what caught the other warblers' attention. He had seen the soloists face, it was blissful, like he had had a realisation. The other warbler didn't like it one bit.

A duet. Why had he wanted that? More importantly, why did he want to sing it with him? They were friends, that was all, they weren't meant to be any more than that. But what could the other warbler do? He couldn't disagree; it would get attention, which he just couldn't face. Reluctantly, he stuck up his hand, voting for them to sing together, hating himself for being a coward and not standing up. For not telling the soloist the truth. That he loved him more than he could ever know.

He had heard rumours about it, delighted whispers echoing through the halls of Dalton, like a twisted chain message. It couldn't be true, he wouldn't believe it.

The day they walked in together, hand in hand, he knew he had lost.


End file.
